


you and i are finally gonna get it right

by bellawritess



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Banter, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos, also it's kind of a coffee shop au????, and therefore 5sos must become famous on their own merit, au where one direction doesnt exist, because.....it's my fic and i can do what i like, helen if u read these tags tell me in the comments below, i have no idea. i really dont, idiots being stupid, im sorry for the dates, niall is randomly a tattoo artist, not like 'on their own merit' but u know what im saying, okay i think ive figured out what au this is, references to drinking, supreme idiocy. seriously, the like. framework of this fic is kinda strange, this just exists in some alternate dimension do not @ me, time stamps, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24309532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: If Michael has to pioneer the movement of normalizing being tattoo-free, then so be it. He and Calum will be the frontmen.-Neither Michael nor Calum have soulmates tattoos. (Apparently.)
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 20
Kudos: 76





	you and i are finally gonna get it right

**Author's Note:**

> god i dont even know what universe this fic exists in i am sorry if you get cognitive dissonance like, reading it, but imagine how i felt writing it bvfgjkfdjgl
> 
> this fic owes a shoutout to [ashisonthefloor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisonthefloor) IM SORRY I FORGOT THAT YOU READ IT but youre a legend for doing so and also shoutout to [calumhoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calumhoods/pseuds/calumhoods) for letting me literally talk her ear off about how terrible it is. ive recently (an hour ago) come to the decision that it doesnt suck too bad so now you guys get to have it bc i havent posted fic on here in a hot sec buuuut im working on a long thing thats stressing me out which hopefully will be done soon ANYWAY this does not matter
> 
> but i hope u enjoy this horrible disaster containing two idiots who are stupid and idiotic and u can come say hey on tumblr @clumsyclifford if u feel like it ill link it at the end BYE
> 
> oh oh oh the title comes from forget about it by all time low yes from the talking part in the bridge i can do what i want to
> 
> tw for mentions of drinking/alcohol (but none actually in the fic itself)

_November 20th, 2013_

Michael wakes up in his bed with a hangover and a tight sting on his left upper arm. Before he even opens his eyes, he cycles through all five stages of grief. He’s not sure he’s properly landed on acceptance when curiosity gets the best of him, and he looks.

_To The Moon._

Oh. Wait a minute.

That’s not a soulmate tattoo. That’s a genuine, god’s-honest tattoo that he’d gotten last night. It had been a slightly drunken (okay, very wasted) decision, encouraged by Calum, but looking at it in this light, he doesn’t regret it. And — he squints. Just underneath it, approximately the dimensions of his thumb, is a string of numbers. Michael stares at _250196_ for many minutes, but his hungover brain feels fuzzy and bewildered. He doesn’t remember getting that one, but it’s not a long shot to assume it had been part of last night’s shenanigans. Michael remembers him and Calum stumbling into the tattoo parlor, giggling far too loudly for a tattoo shop at 11pm. It’s not like Michael has ever planned anything in advance, ever. Get a bunch of random numbers tattooed on him; why not?

He scrambles blindly for his phone. Checks the time: 1:10 in the afternoon. Nice day of sleep, then. Pretty good start to his eighteenth birthday.

He calls Calum.

“Morning,” Calum says when he picks up. “Happy birthday.”

“Hi,” Michael says, and at that exact moment he realizes what the numbers are. “Oh my God, you’re such an arse. Did you seriously make me get your birthday tattooed on me? The night before _my_ birthday?”

“What? No,” Calum says, but he doesn’t sound very certain.

“Well, I wouldn’t have done it on my own,” Michael says. The unspoken _I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t asked me to_ floats away. “I can’t believe you. I mean, I know we were wasted, but…I can’t believe I let you convince me, honestly.”

“I didn’t!” Calum protests. “...I think. Gotta admit, I was… _very_ drunk.”

“Me too,” Michael says mournfully. “Out of childhood with a bang.”

“I think your childhood ended long ago,” Calum says.

“Your mum’s did,” Michael says, nonsensically. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“I thought you were getting _To The Moon_ ,” Calum says.

“I did. It’s here. And underneath it, your birthday. 250196.”

“That’s my birthday,” Calum agrees, as if Michael doesn’t know that. “Well, listen, it sounds to me like a blessing in disguise. Now I'll always be with you.”

“That's the opposite of what I want. I wish you'd leave me alone," Michael says. “I’ll get you back for this. I was already commemorating our friendship with _to the moon._ Why would I want _your_ birthday on _me?_ "

“'Cause I'm your favorite," Calum says.

Michael doesn’t answer, because it’s true enough. Not that Michael would choose to have anyone’s birthday tattooed on him, but if he had to choose, he’d choose Calum. He’ll always choose Calum.

“So,” Calum says, as if about to ask about the weather. Michael knows Calum’s nervous voice, though, and this is it. “Uh, got anything else new, then?”

Michael bites his lip. “I haven’t checked. Only just woke up.”

“Oh. That’s cool. Let me know if — when you find yours.”

“I’ll call you back,” Michael says, and hangs up. He sits in bed for too long, staring at his palms, thinking about how he doesn’t need any more tattoos. He got _To The Moon_ , and he’s got Calum’s birthday, which, admittedly, is a weird thing for drunk Calum to convince him to get. But fair enough as a prank, he supposes; maybe he’ll make Calum get Michael’s birthday on him, as payback, on Calum’s eighteenth.

Finally, he gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror. The bathroom lights are blinding, achingly bright. The hangover is killing him. He strips down to his underwear and slowly does an inch-by-inch scan of his entire body. Three times.

There’s nothing. The knot that had built itself up in Michael’s stomach unravels, and Michael realizes he hadn’t been nervous that there wouldn’t be a soulmate tattoo; he’d been nervous that there _would_ be.

And there’s not.

He calls Calum back.

“There’s — I don’t have one,” he says.

Calum is quiet. “What do you mean, you don’t have one? Everyone gets one.”

“Well, I haven’t,” Michael says. Hearing Calum’s voice, he can’t stop smiling.

“How is that possible?” Calum says. “Check again.”

“Calum, I checked like nine times. I haven’t got a soulmate tattoo.” He pauses. “I didn’t want one anyway.”

“You didn’t _want_ one?”

Michael shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “Fuck soulmates. I’ve already got you, haven’t I? It’s not like I need anyone else to cuddle or spend all my time with. They’d probably just be jealous.”

Calum laughs uneasily. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Michael says firmly. “Not everyone has a soulmate tattoo, not like anything's wrong. I don’t need some ink to tell me what’s important. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Wow,” Calum says. “Being eighteen has truly made you wise.”

“It sure has,” Michael says. “Do you wanna get Maccas and play Fifa?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the coffee shop?”

“Ah, Luke’ll cover me,” Michael says. He’ll do it for Luke’s birthday on the condition that Luke does it for his; that’s the agreement.

“In that case, I would love to,” Calum says.

_January 25th, 2014_

Michael wakes up in Calum’s bed. For one very brief, baffling second, he thinks, _did Calum and I have sex?_ , but no, he’s fully clothed and definitely hasn’t had sex recently. So just good old-fashioned sleeping together, then. 

“Morning,” Calum says from the general direction of the doorway. Michael twists himself around and immediately regrets it; his head is pounding.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles.

“You should be so lucky,” Calum says. “Hungover?” Michael nods, squinting. Calum comes over, Tylenol in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Me too.”

“I fucking love you,” Michael says, and downs the Tylenol and water. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah, about that,” Calum says, crossing his arms. “I know you said you were going to get me back, but I didn’t think you meant it like this.”

“Like what?” 

Calum shakes his head. He’s got the ghost of a smile on his face, but he’s clearly trying very hard to hide it. “Mate, we have to stop drinking so much and blacking out.” 

“I dunno,” Michael says. “I kinda like the mystery. It’s like, who was that Michael? What was he thinking? I’ll never know.”

“Mike, you don't even know what you're thinking when you're sober.”

“Hey, shut up. I think at least three things a day.”

“Not including wanking.”

“...I think at least one thing a day.”

“Thought so.” Calum tugs the collar of his t-shirt down, and Michael’s breath catches when he sees Calum’s new tattoo. It says _MMXII_ across his collarbone, in big, blocky Roman numerals. 

“Oh, it looks sick,” Michael says. 

Calum raises his eyebrows and pulls it down a little further. Michael has to squint, because he’s not wearing his glasses.

“I can’t see that,” he confesses. Calum huffs and comes closer.

_201195._

“You got my birthday tattooed on you?” Michael says. Calum stares at him. Michael connects the dots. “Oh my _God._ I so don’t remember last night at all. That’s incredible. I have nothing but respect for blackout-drunk Michael. He clearly knew what he was doing.”

“You know I’m going to have this forever, right?” Calum says, but despite his best efforts, he doesn’t sound mad, not even a little. “We’re both stuck with each others’ birthdays tattooed on each other forever. Because we’re drunk little shits.”

Michael shrugs. “Could be much worse,” he says. “You could’ve gotten it on your dick.”

Calum snorts.

“And, uh.” Michael swallows. “Nothing else? Apart from the two that you, like, actually went and got?”

Calum watches Michael, and Michael hates how unreadable his expression is. “Nope,” he finally says. “I checked. It’s just those.”

Michael feels badly for feeling so relieved. “I’m sorry,” he lies.

“No, I — I’m actually fine with it,” Calum says. “I mean, it’s like you said, right? Don’t need any new people in my life. I’m pretty happy where I am.” 

Michael grins at him. He hadn’t realized how scared he’d been to learn about Calum’s new soulmate until finding out that Calum doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s selfish, but Michael is selfish. He wants Calum all to himself. He doesn’t want a soulmate. He doesn’t want Calum to have one. He just wants it to be MichaelandCalum forever.

“Nice,” he says. He looks up at Calum and his smile grows. “You learned from the wisest. Well, happy birthday. What do you want to do?”

“Sleep off this hangover,” Calum says honestly. Michael spreads his arms across the bed.

“Join me,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes.

“That’s _my bed,_ you loser.”

“So that’s a no?”

Calum climbs into the bed and curls himself into Michael’s side. “Never said that,” he mumbles. “G’night.”

It’s nearly 11am, but they both fall asleep, secure and warm. Michael feels safer than he’s ever felt.

_March 8th, 2014_

“I just don’t understand how you can be so relaxed about it,” Luke says, absently strumming variations on the A chord.

“It’s literally the simplest thing in the world,” Michael says. “I don’t have a soulmate tattoo. Move on.”

“Yeah, but neither you _nor_ Calum? And you’re not, like, a little bit curious about why not?” Luke presses.

“Leave him alone, Luke,” Ashton says, twirling a drumstick. “He’s obviously soulmates with someone he hates, and he just doesn’t want to say. Probably Ben or Jack.”

Luke gags. Michael reaches for something to throw at Ashton, but all he’s got is a guitar pick, so he throws that. Ashton catches it and starts tapping the snare drum with it.

“I just don’t really care,” Michael says, in response to Luke’s question. “Like. I don’t know. I don’t feel like having anyone else in my life would make it better at this point. I’ve got Cal, and I’ve got you guys — the band — and my family…” He shrugs. It makes undeniable sense to him; he’s happy where he is. If it ain’t broke, right?

Luke sighs. “I could never be like that. I’d be dying to know who my soulmate is.”

“Yeah, because you’re clingy as hell.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m not clingy!”

“I’ll just ask Calum when he gets here, then,” Luke says.

“Okay, fine. I’m a little clingy, but so are you,” Michael says. “At least I’m not harping on not having a soulmate tattoo. You haven’t even got yours yet and you’re obsessed with it.”

Luke sticks his tongue out. “I’m allowed to be curious,” he says. “Ash, aren’t you curious whose yours is?”

Ashton jolts when Luke addresses him. The pick drops from his hand onto the batter head of the snare. “Um, I dunno. Yeah. But, like, whoever it is, I’ll find them in due course. Might not even have gotten their tattoo yet, so I’m trying to take it easy, not worry.”

Michael casts a strange sideways glance at Ashton, who’s bouncing his leg up and down. Nervous. He looks at Luke, then looks back at Ashton.

“Wonder what yours will be,” Luke says, leaning over his guitar and twisting his fingers. “Like, what matches the moon?”

“The sun?” Ashton offers. “The tide?”

Luke nods like he’s deep in thought. “Sun would be nice,” he mumbles, as if talking to himself.

Michael wishes Calum were here. If Luke isn’t Ashton’s soulmate, he’s quitting the band _and_ the coffee shop and taking Cal with him.

  
  


_July 23rd, 2014_

_12:16 a.m._

“Hello?”

“Mike.” It’s Luke. He sounds nervous. No, he sounds scared. Michael can deal with nervous Luke while playing Portal, but not scared Luke. He pauses the game. Chats from Calum appear on the screen, but he ignores them for the moment.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, which is clearly a lie. “I’m just — it’s my eighteenth.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Michael says. Obviously he’d known that, and had remembered up until about two hours ago, when he’d started playing Portal with Calum and all thoughts had exited his mind. “Did you get your tattoo? Do you have one?” 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “It’s, uh. It’s the sun.”

“The sun?” Michael repeats. “That’s a bit random.”

“Yeah, but,” Luke says, sounding desperate, “it’s the sun right on my forearm — looks exactly like —”

Oh. Michael knows. “Oh,” he says softly. “Holy fuck.”

“It can’t be him, right?” Luke says. “Like. There’s no way. The odds…”

“Well, that’s sort of the point of soulmates, isn’t it?” Michael points out. “Like, yeah, in a normal situation it would be a crazy coincidence, but soulmates aren’t supposed to be normal situations.”

Luke is silent for a long time. 

“Luke?” Michael prompts after the quiet gets unbearable. “Do you _want_ it to be him?”

“Yes,” Luke says, in the smallest voice ever. “So badly.”

Michael can’t help it; his heart skips a beat, and it’s not even his own love story. “Well, if you want it to be Ash and you’ve already got the sun where he’s got the moon, that sure does sound like it’s him.”

Luke exhales so hard it crackles on the phone. “No way.”

“If it helps,” Michael says, “I’m pretty sure Ashton’s been hoping you’re his soulmate since he met you.”

“You’re just saying that,” Luke says, but Michael’s not; he’s not blind. He can see the way Ashton looks at Luke like he’s a fucking planet, and Ashton’s content to just orbit. He’s heard some of the stuff Ashton writes and never presents to the band as a whole. If Michael had a nickel for every time Ashton mentioned blond hair and blue eyes in his lyrics, he’d have enough money to kick Ashton from the band and hire a better drummer who wasn’t constantly pining after their lead singer. He’d have enough money to quit the coffee shop and take Calum from the record shop and skip town completely.

“Call him,” Michael advises. “And leave me alone so I can finish playing Portal with Calum.”

“You could’ve done that while talking to me,” Luke says.

“And yet I paused it, just to take your call, because I’m just that nice and lovable,” Michael says. “Now fuck off.”

“Not so nice and lovable now,” Luke mutters.

Michael hangs up on him and unpauses the game.

_January, 2015_

Michael hasn’t done the research.

He doesn’t care. Or he does his level best pretending he doesn’t care. For a little while between his eighteenth birthday and Calum’s, he’d mostly been lying when he’d told people he didn’t care, but as soon as Calum had turned eighteen with no soulmate tattoo in sight, Michael had realized he _actually_ doesn’t care.

And he doesn’t want to know what it means, not to have a soulmate tattoo. If Michael has to pioneer the movement of normalizing being tattoo-free, then so be it. He and Calum will be the frontmen. Besides, it’s not like anyone needs to know. It’s not like anyone should care.

Some people do care, though. Some people are invasive coffee shop customers who think they have the right to ask after Michael’s soulmate tattoo like it’s the sort of casual conversation you instigate while ordering a vanilla latte. Some people are wrong.

“Oh, I like your tattoo,” is what this woman says. She looks to be middle-aged, or maybe mid-sixties, and she’s talking about _To The Moon,_ Michael reckons. Then the lady says: “Is it your soulmate one?”

Michael bites back a rude comment. “No,” he says.

“What’s your soulmate one look like?” the lady asks. Like she would have any right to know if Michael had one. Michael hates his day job. 

He glances over at Luke, who’s halfway through making the latte, and grimaces, a desperate plea to be rescued from this conversation. He should have just lied and said _To The Moon_ was his soulmate tattoo. But he’s sick of talking about it at all. And who’s this lady anyway, thinking she can just march in here, order a coffee, and then ask Michael about his soulmate tattoo like they’re acquainted?

Luke steps over. “Hi, ma’am, sorry, Mike’s much better with vanilla lattes than I am, you’ll want him on that,” he says. That’s a straight lie, but Michael gratefully slides away and goes to finish the latte. “Was there something else we can get for you?”

“Oh, I just wondered about your soulmate tattoos,” the woman says. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen people who have them so fresh, and — oh, I don’t know. I wondered.”

“Well, I can tell you I’ve got mine,” Luke says, and proudly displays the sun tattoo on his forearm. “My soulmate and I are together going on six months.”

“How lovely!” the lady squeals. “The sun, that’s beautiful. What does she have?”

“He,” Luke corrects uncomfortably, “has the moon.”

Michael tunes them out and finishes the latte. He puts less vanilla than he should, but the woman deserves something a little more bitter. Maybe it’ll wake her from whatever dreamland she’s in where nosy questions about personal topics are considered fair game.

* * *

At least Calum lets him complain. Michael’s been bitching about the old lady for about twenty minutes, but Calum, ever the patient and loyal best friend, has let him carry on.

“I just don’t get why everyone is so obsessed with knowing,” Michael finishes, and sighs deeply, feeling the weight lift from his chest. “God, I’m tired.”

“You just talked for nearly half an hour,” Calum points out.

“And I could go longer!” Michael says. “I’m irritated, Cal. Maybe I’ll ask the manager to blacklist her from the store.”

“Complaining will get you nowhere,” Calum reminds him. “And it sounds like she wasn’t trying to be invasive. Old people are just like that.”

“But she _was,_ ” Michael whines. He falls finally onto the couch, where Calum has sat watching him pace since he got home, and cuddles into Calum’s side. “See if I make her coffee again. I’ll throw a diva fit.”

“You do that every day, anyway. You threw a diva fit when I asked if your shampoo was two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.”

“Because who uses _two-in-one,_ Cal? Animals, that’s who.”

“See? Diva.”

“Well, if she comes back, I’ll just bitch at her about shampoo and conditioner until she gives up and goes someplace else.”

“Just pretend you’ve become violently ill,” Calum suggests. “Or that you’ve gotten a very urgent call.”

“I’m awful at pretending I have calls,” Michael says. Calum starts carding through Michael’s hair. Michael knows it’s a trick to calm him down, and he hates that it’s working. Calum’s gentle, methodical gestures are soothing.

“Then just text me, and I’ll ring you, and I’ll make up a horrible emergency,” Calum says.

Michael sighs. “That’s why you’re my favorite, Cal.”

Calum brings his free hand up to pat Michael’s cheek. His hand is warm and soft and the touch feels familiar. “No problem. It’s what I’m here for.”

“To get me out of talking to annoying customers?”

Calum leans his head on Michael’s and presses a light kiss to his head. “Yup.”

“Can’t wait for our band to be famous so I can quit,” Michael mumbles. Calum laughs.

Michael closes his eyes. Calum is safe and comfortable, and it’s been a long day. He falls asleep, breathing in sync with the rise and fall of Calum’s chest.

  
  


_four years and three albums later_

It’s been a surprisingly long time since Michael’s been back down this street, since he’s seen this strip mall. Touring practically non-stop will do that to a person. Almost every shop he remembers being here has been replaced. Michael wishes Calum were here to do this walk with him, but Calum is a little bitch who’s been dragged into the studio for writing. Michael’s weaseled his way out of it. He loves to write, but he can do it outside of a studio, and he’s really not in the mood, today.

He wanders down the strip mall, listening to Good Charlotte to truly get himself back in his old emo mindset. Almost this entire strip mall is unfamiliar to him, except one store. Michael stops in front of it, scoffs, laughs, and walks in, tugging his headphones off his head.

The guy at the counter seems to recognize him. “Hey, it’s you!” he says enthusiastically, with a heavy Irish accent.

Michael grins, confused. “Me,” he says, as if that will clear anything up.

“Oh, sorry,” the tattoo artist says. “I just — I did your tattoo back in, what was it, 2014? And your mate’s as well.”

“Calum?” Michael asks. The guy snaps his fingers.

“That’s him. I keep seeing you guys on the TV now,” the guy says. Michael feels badly for not knowing his name. “Seems like you’ve made quite a name for yourself, eh? I always want to brag, you know, ‘I did his first tattoo.’ But I don’t name-drop. Feels cheap.”

“You can name-drop,” Michael says, thrilled that his name is even the kind of name anyone could name-drop. “I’m surprised you remember us coming here, that was a while ago. I’m really sorry, I don’t think I got your name…?”

The guy laughs. “Makes sense, you were pissed off your arses both times. I’m Niall.”

“Michael,” Michael says. “Although I reckon you know that.”

Niall nods. “I’m not likely to forget the times you came in anytime soon,” he adds. “First time I ever saw soulmate tattoos appear while I was in the middle of giving someone a tattoo.”

Michael’s heart stops.

“What?” he says, dimly.

Niall, unaware that he’s just said something groundbreaking and totally insane, carries on. “Oh, you know, the numbers. Birthdays, I think you said they were. You got his and he got yours, right? They just showed up, smack at midnight. Both times. Never seen it happen before.”

Michael can’t breathe.

“I,” he says, but fails to find words enough to finish that sentence.

“How’s the one I gave you holding up?” Niall continues. “I could take a look, if you like.”

“No,” Michael says. He feels dizzy. “Sorry, I…I actually have to run, I forgot — I’ve got to…” He shakes his head. “The birthday tattoo I have, I…I thought that came from here. I thought _you_ did that.”

Niall frowns. “No, mate. That one just appeared. For your pal, as well. I was in the middle of doing the numerals when your birthday just, _bam._ Threw me for a loop.”

Michael trips backwards and steadies himself. “Okay,” he says, although he feels like he’s suffocating. “Well, um, I better run to my thing that I have — see you. Thanks.”

He all but races out of the tattoo parlor and doesn’t stop until he’s away from the strip mall. Then he leans against a stop sign.

Okay. This isn’t possible. It’s been — it’s been, what, three? Four years? Michael’s never _had_ a soulmate. He’s okay with that. He’s never wanted one. He’s always been just fine, just him and Calum, and neither of them having — 

Michael blinks and thinks about what Niall has said.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs. He yanks his sleeve up and looks at his tattoo of Calum’s birthday again. “Holy shit.”

He pushes himself to his feet and starts purposefully making his way to his parents’ house, shooting off a text as he does:

 **michael:** come to mine after studio. wanna talk to you

* * *

Calum has a key, so he lets himself in.

“Hey, Mikey,” he says. “What’s up?”

Michael has been playing guitar for the past two hours, or trying to, but his hands are still shaking too much. He sets it aside when Calum comes in.

“How was the studio?” Michael asks nonchalantly, like this is a normal day, and everything is fine.

Calum frowns. “You’re acting weird. You only texted me once. What’s going on?”

“Texting you once isn’t weird,” Michael says.

“Michael, have you met you? I’ve received one-word answers from you in more than one text.” Calum crosses his arms. “Why are you being weird?”

“We’re soulmates,” Michael blurts out.

Calum raises his eyebrows. “That’s impossible, given _neither of us have soulmate tattoos,_ Mike.”

“Really? How’d you get my birthday on you, then?” Michael challenges.

“From when we got drunk on my eighteenth, you idiot, same as how you got mine on you.”

“Yeah? Cal, do you _actually_ remember getting that tattoo? Hell, did we pay for these ones?” He stands up finally and shifts on his feet. “You asked to get 2012. Do you remember that?”

“Obviously, yes.”

“And do you remember asking to get my birthday?”

Calum stares at him. “No,” he finally says.

“I think we’ve been colossally idiotic,” Michael says. “I never asked to get your birthday tattooed on me. We were just too drunk to remember.”

“Oh my God,” Calum says. “Holy shit.” And then he laughs, like it’s funny.

“Don’t laugh,” Michael says. “This isn’t funny, it’s absolutely mad.”

“Yes,” Calum agrees, still smiling. “Absolutely fucking insane. We are the dumbest people on the entire planet. I’m in love with you, Michael.”

Michael’s heart stops beating. “What?”

“I’m not sure I knew,” Calum says. “But I definitely am. I — it’s only you for me. You’re it. I didn’t want any other soulmate.”

“Me neither,” Michael breathes. “You’re it for me.” His face feels hot. “Oh, holy shit. I’m in love with you.”

“Welcome to the party,” Calum says.

Michael’s run out of things to say, so he kisses Calum.

It doesn’t feel like the huge revelation Michael might have expected. It just feels…right. In fact, it feels obvious. Like for years he’s been working to solve a math problem, and now he’s finally realized it’d been exactly what he’d thought. It’s Calum. _Of course_ it’s Calum. Who else could it have been? Who else could it ever possibly be? Everything he’s ever felt about Calum has been love, even when it had been anger or hurt or confusion. He loves Calum, is _in love_ with Calum, and always has been.

Calum doesn’t hesitate to kiss Michael back, cupping Michael’s jaw as if anchoring him to the kiss. He tilts his head, fixing the angle, and they fit so perfectly that Michael wonders why they’ve never thought to do this before. He tugs on the front of Calum’s t-shirt, pulling him closer, and wraps his arms around Calum’s waist, and it feels so natural, and so easy, to just kiss Calum like it’s what he was made to do. Calum licks at Michael’s lower lip and Michael’s intoxicated by the way it feels, Calum’s tongue in his mouth, Calum’s hands threaded in his hair, Calum under his palms, Calum, Calum, Calum. He makes a noise that’s half-groan and half-sigh, and feels Calum smiling against his lips. He pulls away. Michael feels dizzy.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I really like kissing you.”

“Good, ‘cause there’s going to be a lot more of it,” Calum says.

Michael leans his forehead against Calum’s. “You taste of Vegemite.”

“There were snacks at the studio,” Calum says.

“Did you save me any?”

“Any Vegemite chocolate scrolls?” Calum leans back and raises his eyebrows. “Dream on.”

“That’s rude,” Michael complains. “I’m not sure I’m in love with you anymore. We should break up.”

“We’re not even really dating,” Calum says.

Michael blanches. “Oh. Right. Cal, d’you wanna be my boyfriend?”

“Not if you’re just going to break up with me straight away.” He sticks his tongue out. Michael wants to kiss him again, but he’s still recovering from the first.

“To be honest,” Michael says, “our tattoos are pretty shit compared to Luke and Ashton. They get the sun and the moon, and we just get a bunch of numbers? Birthdays? How uncreative do you get?”

“You’re going to challenge the ineffable power of soulmate tattoos because you think ours aren’t creative?” 

“I’m just saying, it might have been nice to get something a little cooler or more symbolic.”

“I don’t know,” Calum says. “I like having your birthday. It makes me feel like you’ve been important to me since birth. And like I’ve always got a piece of you with me. The sun could be anyone, but this day is yours.”

“And Joe Biden’s,” Michael says.

“God, you ruin every moment, don’t you?”

“I share a birthday with Joe Biden!” Calum glares at him. “Okay, yes, that was really cheesy and adorable,” Michael concedes. “I like your birthday on me, as well. For the same reason.”

Calum grins. “For real, Mikey. Can we, like. Do this?” He gestures between the two of them, as if whatever _this_ is will become automatically clear. Michael’s not sure what it is, or what it even should be. They’re best friends turned soulmates turned…what? “Be boyfriends and all?”

Oh. Well. That’s simple enough. “Yeah,” Michael says. “I’m not marrying you until I get a prenup, though. Gotta have that money.”

“God, can I break up with you yet?” Calum mutters.

“Nope, there’s a five minute wait time, and I just broke up with you like one minute ago.”

“We weren’t dating when you broke up with me then, though.”

“Well, I still did it, so you have to wait.”

“Fine,” Calum says. “I have an idea for what we can do in the meantime.”

It’s a pretty good idea, Michael decides when Calum kisses him for the second time. “Could kiss you forever,” he mumbles against Calum’s lips.

“Not if I break up with you,” Calum says. Michael pulls away, appalled.

“Oh my _God,_ now _you_ ruined the moment! You’re such a hypocrite!”

Calum doesn’t stop laughing for awhile, but it’s fine. Calum’s laugh is Michael’s favorite sound.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks,,,,,,,,for indulging me LMAO my tumblr is [@clumsyclifford](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so you can come give me more ideas for malum or whatever. && if you liked it leave a comment so i feel validated okay byeeeeee i love you  
> ETA [here's a tumblr link to this fic u can give it a cheeky reblog if you want](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/618767766553608192/you-and-i-are-finally-gonna-get-it-right)


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